


The Last Of The Angels Sent To Us

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: No Hope Without Light [3]
Category: Metro 2033 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Artyom is mute, Developing Relationship, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Metro Exodus, Nuclear Winter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23662510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Pavel snorts. “So, a Spartan Ranger, a Red Line officer, a stalker and his protege walk into a bar… we’re the start of a bad joke now, Tyomuchka. Can’t we be part of a good joke instead? One where I’m not in deep shit?”Artyom smiles. *ALWAYS SERIOUS FOR YOU PASHA*
Relationships: Artyom/Pavel Morozov
Series: No Hope Without Light [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703665
Comments: 57
Kudos: 56





	1. No Arguments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leevila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leevila/gifts), [Hellfire (Fangrl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangrl/gifts).



> I should know better than to post fics before they're done being written. It's just seriously a bad idea.
> 
> This fic is being gifted to the above-mentioned readers, because they left me nice comments that gave me warm fuzzies asking for more so here it is ^_^
> 
> Speaking notes:
> 
> "This is regular speech, obviously."  
>  _+This is psychic communication with the Dark One.+_  
>  *THIS IS SIGN LANGUAGE*

Artyom pulls the slip of folded paper from his pocket and hands it over: _As much of your shining moss paste as this will buy._ And then empties two entire magazines of MGRs onto the man’s desk.

This earns him a startled look. “Sir, why do you need so much?”

Artyom huffs impatiently - he doesn’t have time for this, but even so he pulls his pencil from behind his ear and frantically scribbles _I’m on a mission to the surface that could take awhile to finish._

“Alright, wait here, I have to go ask about it from someone else.”

Artyom tries as hard as he can not to get impatient about this. He needs to hurry up and get back to the Red Line, find Pasha. They haven’t always had time to meet considering the political situation, and in the last three and a half years or so there’s been months at a time where they didn’t see each other. The last time Artyom had contact with him was nine weeks ago. Things are getting bad, there.

But here he is, in Spasatyelnaya Gorod - a stretch of service tunnels once filled with refugees from Kuznetsky Most that he saved from bandits. Now, they’re the only settlement in the metro which isn’t made from a station, and they’re doing fairly well for themselves.

If only the same could be said for the Red Line.

After Korbut’s assault on D6, the Red Line still hasn’t recovered its strength and Hanza has been doing everything in its power to try and secure part or all of it for themselves in order to collect the resources. Nobody except Hanza actually wants that to happen, though, not even Reich - the fascists and the communists have somehow managed to come to an arrangement with the understanding that if one of them gets swallowed by the Ring, the other won’t be long after, so they’ve stopped attacking each other completely for the last year and a half. Even so, Hanza has slowly been gaining influence in the Red Line, and even with aid from the Rangers it seems almost like an inevitability at this point.

Artyom needs to stop that. At best, it’ll end up with another damn war that kills scores of people just like the last five or six wars fought between various factions. At worst, the Red Line will be enslaved under Hanza’s capitalism, leaving Reich and eventually Polis to follow after.

“Oh, you’re early sir, I wasn’t expecting you until later,” comes a voice behind him.

Artyom turns and it’s a young man, a few years his junior and undoubtedly one of the first ones born underground, that he’s never seen before. He raises his eyebrows and the guy looks even more startled than he feels.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought you were Motya.”

Artyom nods and reaches into his pocket. As a birthday present (like he actually knows what his birthday even is - he picked a day at random in order to fill out the paperwork when he joined the Order) someone found for him a small notepad that fits right in his vest, so he doesn’t have to tear out pages of his journal anymore whenever he needs to talk to someone who doesn’t know how to read his hands.

_Are you looking for someone?_

“No. He’s teaching me to be a stalker, he’s from Tretyakovskaya.”

A stalker…?

_What’s his going rate? How experienced is he?_

“Oh, I don’t know, he used to be from Hanza so I don’t think he even needs the money because he’s already rich. But he’s been a stalker for… I don’t know. Since the bombs fell, I think. That’s what he said, anyway.”

_When will he be here? I might want to hire him, I’m on a mission._

“Probably a few hours from now, maybe a little earlier. But if you hire him he might make you take me, too. I’m his student.”

_That’s fine, but I won’t pay for you if he already is._

“I don’t need to be paid. I’m trying to die, that’s why I’m becoming a stalker in the first place.”

Artyom almost takes a step back. He’s heard before of stalkers who do their jobs because they’re suicidal, but until now he assumed it was just a crazy rumor.

“Edik!” yells a voice from somewhere.

“Yes, papa!”

“Motya’s here, why are you fucking around?”

“Papa, send Motya here!” the kid - Edik - shouts down the tunnel. “Someone wants to hire him!”

The man from the kiosk finally comes back, setting two plastic cans with screw-tops on the work surface. “This is how much you have for sixty MGRs. Are you from Hanza, sir?”

Artyom shakes his head and accepts them, slipping them into his pack along with the two emptied Kalash mags. He scoops up his backpack and then his assault rifle, just in time for a scarred old man to come ambling over. He looks between Artyom to Edik and back again, and his eyes stay there after that.

“What’s the job?”

Which means Artyom has to set down his gun again and fill an entire page of his notepad explaining. He ends it with: _I’m a Spartan senior lieutenant, they pay me very well so I can pay you very well too._

Motya reads this through and nods. “Twenty up front, five per day and an extra one for each kilometer we hike. How long will this take?”

Artyom shrugs, then sticks his hand into his cargo pocket and pulls out a 20-count paper box of 7.62s to hand over. Motya looks surprised by that and Artyom writes a little more.

_The rest on completion and your student has offered to work for free. I speak with my hands, I’ll show you some words later so we can talk in the field._

Now, Motya shrugs. “Sounds fair. When do we go?”

_Right now._

* * *

“Comrade General Antoshkin, I have the report from the scouts,” Pavel says, saluting and then setting the pack of papers on the desk.

“Thank you. Dismissed.”

That report isn’t good news and it’s pretty obvious Antoshkin knows it, so Pavel does his best not to run like hell from the office. They’re drafting fourteen-year-olds as guards so that the more experienced soldiers can be freed up in case Hanza decides to start shit, and Pavel’s running off his legs trying to keep loose ends tied up around this place. He never should’ve taken that promotion last year.

So of course now one of the recruits comes sprinting up to him, and then there’s this: “ _Tovarisch Podpolkovnik,_ a visiting officer is looking for you.” As if he doesn’t have enough shit to deal with right now.

“Where?”

“By the airlock, sir. He needs to see you urgently.”

“Did he say urgently?” Pavel demands. He needs any excuse not to go get hassled by some guy from Polis or Reich.

“Ah… no, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel. He didn’t say anything, he wrote it down on a piece of paper.”

Well. That changes things a lot.

“Dismissed, Private.”

Now Pavel needs any excuse to not do anything else but go see Tyoma right now. If anyone tries to stop him, they should be shot as far as he’s concerned. He heads for the airlock and sure enough, there’s his favorite Ranger, wearing a hazard suit and carrying a bunch of stuff. They make eye contact and Tyoma gives him a huge grin.

*PASHA* he says, one of only two names he has a sign for. Mostly he’ll just point if he’s talking to someone specifically, but Pavel has his very own word, and that makes him feel special every time Tyoma uses it. *TRYING TO SEE YOU FOR AWHILE, TOOK SOME TIME FINDING YOU*

They come up to each other for a strong hug and lightly tap their foreheads together in greeting.

“Tyomuchka, you’re the smartest face I’ve seen all month!” Pavel exclaims, saying the words with his hands at the same time as his mouth because he knows his friend likes that. “Tell me you came to save me from this nightmare, huh?”

*SORT OF, YES*

 _Ladna,_ he wasn’t actually expecting that. “So you’re here because you need something then?”

*PASHA, BIG TROUBLE FOR THE RED LINE* Tyoma says, his hands flashing it out so quickly Pavel almost can’t understand him. *HANZA GETS TOO MUCH STRONGER AND YOU COLLAPSE. NEED YOU FOR A MISSION TO STOP THAT. MAYBE A VERY LONG MISSION. PLEASE CAN YOU COME?*

“What mission?”

*NEED GO FIND ALYOSHA, MAYBE HE HELPS US FIX THIS*

Okay, Pavel was sure as hell not expecting that, either. But he can’t really talk about Alyosha here because nobody knows what his involvement was with that. They all just assume he lost track of the creature and that’s the end of it. So Pavel does what Tyoma does, and just uses his hands without making noises. They’ve only had to do this once before, up on the surface when some watchmen were sniffing around and they had to be absolutely silent.

*EMERGENCY?* Pavel asks.

*YES* It’s said very firmly, with crisp motions and inviting no arguments. Tyoma’s face is deadly serious. *SPARTA NOT ABLE MAKE SOLDIERS FAST ENOUGH FOR DEFEND RED LINE. YOU NOT ABLE MAKE SOLDIERS FAST ENOUGH. HANZA MOVES IN SOON UNLESS WE FIND WAY TO STOP THEM. NEED ALYOSHA’S HELP*

*AND HE HELPS US?* Pavel’s skeptical. Tyoma didn’t explain it to him very well, but he knows for sure there’s a reason why the Dark Ones took off after D6.

*ONLY CHANCE* Tyoma is adamant. *LAST CHANCE TO STOP THEM*

Pavel nods finally. “ _Otlichno,_ d’Artagnan. Let me get geared up, eh?”

He nods back and softens a little, obviously still worried but glad Pavel’s going along with whatever the hell this is. *HIRED A STALKER*

“O-ho, an extra gun just for me? New Years isn’t for two more weeks, you should save the presents!” Pavel teases.

*US TWO NOT ABLE CROSSING ALL OF MOSCOW ALONE. STALKER, AND STUDENT-STALKER. HELP FOR US*

Pavel snorts. “So, a Spartan Ranger, a Red Line officer, a stalker and his protégé walk into a bar… we’re the start of a bad joke now, Tyomuchka. Can’t we be part of a good joke instead? One where I’m not in deep shit?”

Tyoma smiles. *ALWAYS SERIOUS FOR YOU PASHA*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:
> 
> Tovarisch Podpolkovnik - Comrade Lieutenant-Colonel
> 
> Ladna/otlichno - These both roughly work out to "okay" or "alright"
> 
> Also, come check out [this amazing fanart](https://aaronthe8thdemon.tumblr.com/post/616136707388112896/the-amazingly-talented-and-creative) that was drawn for me/for the fic!


	2. A Blank Map

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentioned at the beginning of this chapter is a Geiger counter called the DP-5. This is a piece of Soviet military equipment which can read from .5 milliroentgens to 200 roentgens per hour. It's sturdy enough to be drop-kicked off a roof and survive, its dial is painted to glow in the dark, and you can very easily coax it to take the humble AA battery as a power source. I imagine Motya carrying around a DP-5A model because that's the one I own.
> 
> The personal electronic dosimeters stalkers use are never shown in the game. I'd guess they're either SOEKS or Terra models.

The four of them are in hazard suits - they’ll be on the surface for days, maybe a few weeks even, and ballistic plates are heavy and expensive. Artyom surveys his companions’ equipment. Pasha has that damn tankman’s helmet, of course, and is right now stuffing a bunch of temporary papers into his pocket that will let Edik and Motya through various Red Line stations on their way to D6. Edik’s mask is old and scratched… maybe they’ll find a better one for him, somewhere. Motya has a chunky little machine strapped to the front of his chest that has a wand which dangles from his belt. Artyom has no idea how the grizzled old stalker got his hands on a DP-5, a _working_ DP-5 no less, but he’s glad. The small pocket-sized dosimeters most stalkers have only help to a point and then fly off the scale, but that old bastard from the Soviet era can read up to 200 roentgens. They’ll be able to know, very specifically, how contaminated everything is. For a long trip across the surface, that’s an invaluable tool.

They get on the train with all their gear and Artyom briefs them with Pavel translating.

*DIFFICULT MISSION. PROBABLY YOU HEAR SOME TIME BACK ABOUT THE DARK ONES. PSYCHIC MUTANTS. WE GOING TO FIND THEM*

“You’re really paying me all this for a damn hunting trip?” Motya grunts, lighting a cigarette as he says it.

*NOT HUNTING. THEY HELP US STOP HANZA. FRIENDS OF MINE. THEY KNOW ME*

“So they’re mutants of people?”

*POSSIBLE YES. VERY SMART, VERY HELPFUL. CAN STOP OTHER MUTANTS ATTACKING. CAN STOP HUMANS DOING THINGS TOO. WE ASK FOR THEM HELP US SO HANZA WON’T TEAR OPEN WHOLE METRO TO MAKE MORE MONEY*

Motya sucks on his cigarette for a long moment and taps the end to lose the ashes from it, then finally nods. “Okay. You’re the one paying anyway.”

Such a cynic. Artyom doesn’t have the energy to go into a better explanation of this right now and really if he wanted to get his point across he’d have to waste at least two entire pages of his journal writing it all down, which he’s really not interested in doing. He says one more thing.

*QUESTIONS?*

“How will we find them?” Edik asks.

*LOOKING AROUND UNTIL WE SEE THEM. IT’S WHY MISSION COULD BE SO LONG. DON’T KNOW WHERE THEY WENT. MAYBE THEY NOT AROUND AT ALL ANYMORE*

“Then why are we doing it at all?”

*NO OTHER CHOICE*

The train car passes through an airlock and Artyom settles back a little in his seat. Pasha snorts at him when he rummages his pack and pulls out his journal.

_Another beginning to another journey… how many times have I written this same thing, now? This must be at least the third one. First to destroy Botanichesky Sad, then to find Alyosha and stop Korbut from destroying D6. Now, I head towards D6 with a friend and two hired guns. We’ll pass through Polis and then a secret military installation to use the bullet train and get to ВДНХ through Metro-2. And this is even how my last journey started, too: the bullet train. We’ll be going back to Botanichesky Sad because it seems possible the Dark Ones may have settled there again. _

_Possible, yes. Unlikely? Also yes. I know if I was Alyosha, or one of his kin, I wouldn’t want to live in the ruins my family died in. But the truth is I don’t know where else to start. Besides that, Botanichesky Sad is so radioactive that it’s very unlikely anyone will see us. This is practically a secret mission. I won’t mind if the stalkers I hired don’t keep their mouths shut, but they’ll only have a chance to talk about this after it’s already over. This assuming we all make it._

_Despite the politics happening that made this dangerous mission necessary, I’m a little bit excited. I haven’t had contact with Alyosha since he and the others left D6 and I can’t wait to see him again. I wonder how tall he’ll be, now, when I find him._

Pasha leans across the seat to look over his arm and read what he’s writing. Artyom allows this to happen with a small smile; he got used to Pasha being in his space, especially after a couple trips up to the surface together where they huddled in cramped spaces to hide from dangerous things passing by. He never minds his friend reading his notes, either.

“Man, your little adopted baby mutant won’t be so little anymore, eh?”

*ALMOST FOUR YEARS SINCE I SEE HIM LAST*

Pasha chuckles a little. “So does Alyosha do the hand-thing for you like I do, too?”

*NOT NECESSARY. WE CAN THINK AT EACH OTHER, HE TALKS BY THINKING. I ONLY THINK BACK AND DON’T NEED USE MY HANDS FOR TALK TO HIM*

Pasha grins and signs instead of talking: *SOMETIMES WISH I CAN KNOW WHAT YOU THINKING COMRADE*

Comrade. A word Artyom made up just for his friend. He gives Pasha his best smile and says *LAUGHING*, and his friend laughs right along with him.

* * *

After almost a day and a half and pulling out the temporary papers probably four dozen times to show people, they’re finally in Polis and the lights are so bright Pavel can’t see. Tyoma pokes at his shoulder to wake him up and right away he has to fling his arm over his eyes because it _hurts._ The only time light has ever hurt him is on the surface during the day, and this reminds him of that.

“We’ll have to get a few last supplies,” he hears Motya’s rough voice saying from the seat across. “And you’re going to be hungry all the time, so get used to that idea. I don’t want to hear you bitching and moaning about how your stomach hurts.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pavel slowly moves his arm and squints open just far enough to see things about a meter away. Edik is also covering his eyes, but Motya and Tyoma are completely fine. The train car finally stops and they pull their packs and rifles out from under their feet, naturally falling into a configuration with Tyoma in front to lead and Motya in back to hustle them along. This leaves Edik and Pavel in the middle of the line to stumble around blindly, sandwiched by their comrades.

After ten minutes or so of being bumped forward, Pavel can finally open his eyes most of the way - just in time to have to show his papers. He shows the Ranger his passport and his military card, then pulls out the same temporary papers for Motya and Edik.

Those are declined.

*THEY’RE WITH ME* Tyoma says in big, angry movements.

“Sir, this area is restricted for military access only.”

*EMERGENCY, HIRED HELP FOR SURFACE MISSION*

“Sir-”

Pavel steps forward. “Comrade Ranger, we need them for security. This mission is to save my station and my entire line from Hanza invading us. Our exit point is ВДНХ, we can’t get there in time without taking Metro-2.”

*CLEARED AHEAD OF TIME* Tyoma adds. *MILLER ALLOWS*

The Ranger looks between them, then pulls a radio off his LBE. “Junior Sergeant Golchuk to Lieutenant Ivantsov.”

“ _Copy._ ”

“Senior Lieutenant Shipachyov and a Red Line officer want to bring through a pair of stalkers, they say it’s necessary for a mission.”

Pavel’s startled when he realizes that until now he had no idea what Tyoma’s last name even is.

“ _Yes, it’s been cleared. Have Kolchenko and Degtyarov escort them._ ”

“Yes, sir.” Golchuk sticks his radio back on his shoulder and looks at Tyoma. “Wait here, sir.”

“Shipachyov? You never told me your last name.”

Tyoma shrugs slightly. *DIDN’T HAVE ONE. RANDOM ASSIGN. VERY COMMON FOR RECRUITS*

Two privates show up and finally they’re let in. Motya looks crankier and crankier with every step, and Edik’s eyes are huge, looking everywhere. Pavel’s only been inside D6 once before, with Tyoma of course, and it was mission-related just like it is now. The only time they stop walking is to get a last handful of supplies, cans of pork _shurpa_ and topping off their canteens with water. Tyoma hands each of them an extra filter as well and then they’re off again, walking up the steel hall without talking until they get to a train platform.

There’s just one Ranger standing guard there. Pavel’s surprised and guilty that so many of Tyoma’s friends are busy trying to make the Red Line look stronger than it is and hold back Hanza that they left themselves weak here. If anyone (Hanza) wanted to take Polis and D6 right now, they could practically walk right in and plant a flag because there’s not enough to stop them. Hopefully Hanza hasn't realized that, yet.

“We gotta hurry,” Pavel mutters.

Artyom nods. *WHOLE METRO IN DANGER LIKE ALWAYS*

And isn’t that the fucking truth. The metro is never more than three steps away from imploding on itself with all these damn factions trying to kill each other. It’s already tough for Pavel with the Red Line on the edge of collapse, but he has no idea how bad it must be for his friend, who’s part of a group that swears neutrality and does its damnedest to keep everyone afloat which usually costs them lives in exchange.

The train shoots up to them, faster than anything Pavel’s seen before. It doesn’t even have that unsteady rattling noise like most trains do, which is just weird. Stepping inside, the thing isn’t held together with duct tape and prayer. Why can’t all trains be this nice?

Edik and Motya pick seats across from each other, stretching out and leaving their gear in another seat on the other side of the aisle. Motya smokes and grills Edik on some things about surface missions, but Pavel’s not listening to that. He’s standing in the front of the train with Tyoma, who’s pulled out a map of Moscow from before the war that’s been written and drawn all over. There are mutant nests and radiation hot-spots picked out in pen, but only on certain areas of the map. Each addition has a date assigned to it, the month and the year. A few have been crossed out or expanded.

“So we come up from… here?” Pavel taps his finger on Botanichesky Sad, which has been labeled by some Ranger as _radiation/crater._ “And then what after that?”

*EXPLORATION. A GOOD SURVEY METER FOR 200 ROENTGEN, CAN LOOK FOR ALYOSHA AND DARK ONES SAFELY*

“But you don’t think they’ll be there,” Pavel guesses.

Tyoma shakes his head sadly. *NO. DON’T KNOW HOW TO START BESIDES. WE TRAVEL LOTS OF MOSCOW PROBABLY TO FIND DARK ONES*

“When we get back we’ll be glowing.”

*MAYBE YES. STRONG RADIATION*

Pavel points his fingers at a couple big empty spots where nothing’s written or drawn, then goes back to signing along as he talks. “Nobody’s been here yet? So we’ll also check these areas.”

*YES*

“Tyomuchka, I have a really bad feeling right now that you’re dragging me off to be eaten by a pack of demons,” he says, half-joking.

*POSSIBLE. LOOK* He indicates for a second. *STATE LIBRARY. VERY BIG VERY GOOD REASON WHY WE DON’T GO HERE. HORRIBLE MUTANT PROBLEM. CAN’T DESCRIBE, DON’T HAVE WORD FOR THEM. UGLY AND TERRIBLE*

“So you’ve been there? Why didn’t you mark it?”

*NOT A SPARTAN YET FOR THAT MISSION. NO ACCESS THE MAP FOR ME. WE AVOIDING THE STATE LIBRARY FOR THIS MISSION, NOT GOOD IDEA TO GO STOMP AROUND NEAR THAT PLACE*

Pavel nods. “What about this one?” He points to a different blank spot.

Tyoma shrugs. *NO SCOUTS HAVE GONE YET. NEW TERRITORY. SEEN DEMON, MAYBE TWO DEMONS FLAPPING NEARBY, NOTHING ELSE. HAVEN’T GOT CLOSE ENOUGH. MAYBE NOTHING THERE AT ALL*

“But that seems unlikely.” Pavel finishes his sentence for him, earning a nod. “ _Chyort,_ Tyoma, that kid Edik’s going to get his own ass eaten by watchmen before we even get there.” He realizes he shouldn’t let the stalkers hear this part and goes to his hands. *AND OLD STALKER? HE KEEPS UP WITH US? MAYBE TOO SLOW, STOP US FINDING ALYOSHA IN TIME*

*OLD YES. ANCIENT NO. CAN KEEP UP WITH US AND ALSO KNOWS SURFACE VERY WELL. SPOKE TO HIM ABOUT THIS ON MY WAY TO COME GET YOU PASHA*

Pavel sighs. “Okay, d’Artagnan. I trust you.” *JUST DON’T TRUST THEM*

*DON’T HAVE TO PASHA. THEY GET PAID, WANT TO STICK IT OUT FOR MONEY*

*NOT A GOOD MOTIVATOR. GET FED UP, NOT CARE ABOUT MONEY. AND THEN DESERT MISSION* Pavel argues.

*IN THAT CASE, I GIVE UP ONLY TWENTY BULLETS FOR EXTRA GUNS. HAVE MORE FIREPOWER FOR SOME DAYS* Tyoma smiles. *MAYBE GET US FARTHER FASTER THAN US TWO ALONE BEFORE THEY LEAVE*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:
> 
> Botanichesky Sad - Botanical gardens
> 
> ВДНХ - VDNKh, the station name of Exhibition
> 
> Shurpa - There isn't really a translation for this. It's a type of soup usually made with beef but they don't have cows so here it's pork shurpa. It's a vegetable soup with potatoes and it's very delicious, I make it all the time and that's how it snuck its way into the fic :)
> 
> Chyort - There's not a great translation for this word, either. I've usually seen it interpreted as "shit."


	3. A House A Home

Artyom has a moment of deja vu as he swings open the grate and climbs up into the street - the territory hasn’t changed at all in the last three and a half years except for the current layer of gray snow. This time, though, Pasha follows after him, then Motya and Edik. All of them breathe quietly through identical masks, looking around in the dark and spreading out slightly into a more tactical formation.

Once they’re sure it’s clear, they move up, past a crashed helicopter and over to the edge of the crater.

*PASHA. TAKE-* He points to Edik. *COVER US. SEND-* He points to Motya. *WITH ME. TELL HIM OPERATE NOW THE SURVEY METER*

Pasha translates this for him in a soft whisper and the four of them get set up for their tasks. Artyom watches Motya sling his rifle and then play with the detector for a minute, then start forward with the probe in one hand and a Lolife in the other. They begin creeping forward, pausing on the edge of the crater.

“Fifty roentgens,” Motya mutters to him. “It better get lower than that in a hurry, two hours of that gets us ARS. Four hours might kill us.”

Artyom nods and uses one of about six signs he taught the two stalkers: *FORWARD*

Slowly, they begin climbing down. At the bottom of the gorge Artyom manages to get the message across that Motya has to walk in front. Or maybe the old stalker already figured that out for himself. Either way, they proceed, flashlights glancing over crumpled debris. Artyom feels sick - not from radiation, they haven’t been exposed long enough for that yet, but at himself. He nearly destroyed an entire species of sentient beings and this here is a permanent mark of that.

Motya’s flashlight beam barely moves; it seems his eyes are glued to the meter dial. So Artyom keeps his own eyes out, directs the other man around things that could trip them up. Occasionally Motya will say something: “forty five roentgens” or “sixty roentgens”. Artyom mostly plays attention to how this all looks, trying to find any sign that a Dark One was here recently. So far, the place is empty. He’s glad he thought to turn off his personal dosimeter before making the climb down, because right now it would be squealing helplessly at him, not able to give him a dose rate and also possibly attracting predators.

He almost doesn’t notice it: a slight change in color. It shows in the corner of his eye and he looks again… a shadow. Artyom pulls away from Motya and stomps right over to it. He read about this, somewhere. When nuclear weapons go off the shadows of people are flash-burned into things, left there forever even though the person got disintegrated. Here is the shadow of a small Dark One, littler even than Alyosha was when they met, and Artyom’s eyes fill with tears under his visor. He reaches out to touch it and is shocked through his rubber glove.

 _+Artyom?+_ _  
_ _He sits up. The world fogs around him and he can’t feel anything. There’s just blurred impressions._ _  
_ _+ARTYOM+ a chorus of voices rings in his head._ _  
_ _+Artyom?+ asks the first voice again._ _  
_ _Artyom waves his hands around. He can see himself, but he can’t feel his body._ _  
_ _+Who’s there?+_ _  
_ _+US+ say the voices. +WE ARE HERE. BUT WHERE ARE YOU?+_ _  
_ _+I don’t know! Where am I?!+ he screams, frustrated._ _  
_ _+Artyom, it’s me.+_ _  
_ _And he recognizes the voice, finally. +Alyosha! Alyoshenka, I’m trying to find you.+_ _  
_ _+You need my help again.+_ _  
_ _+Yes. I’m sorry, I know I have no right to ask. But I can’t find any other solution.+_ _  
_ _+You’re at the old home.+_ _  
_ _+Yes, Botanichesky Sad, I’m here. I didn’t think you would be here but I had no idea where else to look. Where are you? I have to come find you.+_ _  
_ _Alyosha smears into being before Artyom’s eyes. He’s a bit taller than he used to be, his legs and arms longer. Some of his mandibles have started to fuse together and his neck is thickening. He’s almost grown, maybe, or he’s a gawky teenager now._ _  
_ _+HE ALWAYS COMES FOR US+_ _  
_ _+Alyoshka, I’m so sorry.+_ _  
_ _+Artyom, do not be sorry to me, please. We forgave you. Come to where we are, and we’ll help.+_ _  
_ _+But where are you?+_ _  
_ _+I’ll be in your thoughts, I can explain while you go,+ Alyosha promises. +Wake up now, before you get poisoned.+_

Artyom’s eyes open for real and realizes he’s being carried - someone has his feet, someone else holds under his arms. He can hear Pasha shouting at them, which is bad. It might bring watchmen.

“Careful, careful! _Tvoyu mat,_ if you drop him it’s your ass, Edik!”

They haul him the rest of the way to safe ground. Artyom struggles upright on shaking legs, hurrying to brush the radioactive snow and dust off himself. He turns to Pasha. *MADE CONTACT. ALYOSHA TELLS ME HOW GET TO HIM NOW*

“Good… Tyoma, _chto sluchilos?_ ”

*PSYCHIC VISION. SPOKE WITH DARK ONES. THEY GOING TO HELP US ONCE WE FIND THEM*

“Good! Good. Man, Motya said you just fell over.”

“There was a hundred and twelve roentgens in that spot, you dumbass,” Motya grunts. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Artyom shrugs. *HAVE WHAT WE NEED NOW*

Pasha helpfully translates that like always, and after that they begin walking again.

* * *

Pavel never stops being amazed by how fucking _tall_ buildings really are.

Out in the night, it’s something spectacular. He was all of three years old when the world ended, so he barely remembers anything about the land up above. Vague imprints of a pet dog and ugly wallpaper in the kitchen are pretty much all he has left, and that second one isn’t even his - he just remembers his mother complaining about how terrible the walls looked in there. Eventually even she forgot, she longed for that hideous kitchen. Pavel still misses Burek sometimes. He doesn’t even know what kind of dog Burek was.

Pavel nudges Tyoma’s shoulder to get his attention and then gestures vaguely at the tall apartment blocks. *REMEMBER WHAT FROM LIVE UP HERE?*

Tyoma glances from his hands to his face and, if his eyes crinkling under the visor are a good way to tell, smiles at him. *ICE CREAM*

They both then look to the side, at Motya.

“Hey, stalker,” Pavel whispers.

“What.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen. I was travelling to see my girlfriend.”

“What do you miss most from before?”

He’s quiet for a second. “My grandmother.”

*GRANDMOTHER?*

“She made the best _schi_ in Russia and she could do _shashlik_ better than any man I ever met. She was such a good cook. I miss her. Her and her food.” Motya snorts at them. “And you two were babies.”

*YES*

“Yeah.”

They stop talking after that because they really should be paying attention to where they’re going. Somewhere distant, a group of watchmen are howling, but it’s so hard to hear that there’s no way they’re the target.

Pavel starts to lose track of time after a little bit, though he does notice that Motya has one of those fancy nixie-tube watches that looks almost identical to Tyoma’s. Eventually the sky clouds over and it starts snowing lightly, leaving tiny drops of water on his mask that he almost can’t see. Thank fuck Tyoma borrowed him a hazard suit and his clothes won’t get wet, or else he’d probably freeze.

The weather starts to pick up after maybe ten minutes and Tyoma signals them to stop.

*RADIATION ASH IN THE SNOW. NEED SHELTER.* He points at Motya. *YOU KNOW SAFETY NEARBY?*

“A building about two blocks up, there’s an apartment in the middle that’s clean enough we won’t need masks.”

*GOOD. WE GO THERE, STALKER LEAD.*

Before Pavel has even finished translating that sentence Motya is taking off up the street at a much faster pace than they were travelling before. It’s not easy to follow him spread out like this because the snow was already knee-deep, so they end up walking in his tracks in order to keep up.

Reaching the apartment building, the top part is crumbling but the rest seems sturdy enough all things considered. The door opening onto the street is just hanging open, still attached by the bottom hinge but not at the top, and then they’re climbing stairs. Turns out this safe spot is seven floors up - they’re all gasping noisily through their respirators by the time Motya finds their floor. The door has a typical stalker mark on it, a crude spray-painting of a gas mask in black.

Pavel steps forward to open the door.

And immediately there’s a shotgun in his face.

“Fuck off,” the Reich stalker snarls, a long scar curling up by his mouth.

Three more rifles come level as Pavel’s comrades rush to his defense.

“We need shelter,” Motya growls back, stuffing the barrel of his Kalash 2012 against the neck of the fascist. “Get your ass out of the way.”

Apparently the fucker realizes he can’t actually win this one, because the Shambler is grudgingly lowered and he steps aside with an indignant scowl. Pavel would give him an obnoxious grin, but there’s a mask in the way and it would be pointless.

Turns out there’s two of them. The second Reich stalker is eating something slimy out of a can and glowers at them from where he sits on a wood chair with a broken back.

Pavel shares a look with Tyoma after their masks are off: *I FUCKING HATE THESE BASTARDS*

His friend nods. *DON’T YOU HAVE CEASEFIRE?*

*YES. DOESN’T MEAN HAVE TO LIKE THEM*

They sit away from the fascists, huddled into the opposite corner of the room. Pavel digs a can of mushroom conserve and a bottle of tea mixed with vodka out of his pack, and they pass it around in a circle until the can is empty. Motya declines to have any liquor and just sips water from his canteen.

“First watch?” Pavel asks, looking at Tyoma.

*ME* And points to Edik. *TWO HOUR SHIFTS. STAY UNTIL SNOW STOPS OR UNTIL EVENING. TIME NOW IS 04:47 SO NOT WORTH LEAVE UNTIL DARK AGAIN*

Pavel reiterates this for the two stalkers, then lays out his bedroll. He doesn’t like having the two Nazis so close by while he’s trying to sleep, but he knows Tyoma will protect him and once he lies down he drifts right off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the radiation readings Motya gives in the beginning of the chapter: for context, 400 roentgens in 72 hours or less is the median lethal dose in adult humans (assuming you have access to hospital care, without a hospital you can probably die after like 200 roentgens). 100 roentgens in 72 hours or less is the average of when you'll start to experience acute radiation syndrome (ARS), more commonly and incorrectly known as radiation poisoning. So, 50 R/h would give you ARS in two hours. That's why a spot with 112 R/h is so concerning. Luckily Artyom was only in that hotter-than-usual spot for like five minutes. (Hi is my autism showing? lol)
> 
> Russian:
> 
> Tvoyu mat - Fuck your mother (this one is super common)
> 
> Chto sluchilos - What happened?
> 
> Schi - Cabbage soup
> 
> Shashlik - Shishkebabs. It's generally accepted that men are better at this dish than women, hence Motya's comment.


	4. Oh, To Be Warm And Clean

Nearing 17:00, Artyom scribbles an explanation for Edik on his notepad and leaves the apartment.

The Nazis are long gone - they left sometime in the middle of Pasha’s and Motya’s first watch, so Artyom doesn’t feel bad leaving the young rookie stalker by himself to guard. The sun’s almost down right now, which means it’s the perfect time for him to climb the roof (or at least what’s left of the upper floors) and see how things look from above. He doesn’t put his respirator on until his dosimeter’s warning _tick-tick-tickticktick-t-ticktick_ starts sounding from his left shoulder, and after that the air stops being so cold, too, no longer burning his nose and lungs.

It’s a slow climb up many flights of stairs. A few times he’s tempted to stop and open some of those unlocked doors, see what life in Moscow might’ve looked like before the great war, but he’s on a mission and doesn’t give in. When he was younger, he probably would’ve done just that, but he’s an officer now and his discipline is much better no matter how much he aches for the past.

 _+Alyosha?+_ he calls out in his mind as he passes the fifteenth floor.

_+I’m here.+_

_+Good… I’m about to look down from the top of a building. See if you can point me a little, alright?+_

_+Yes, I will try.+_

At the seventeenth floor, the stairwell is full of rubble and he has to sling his rifle and climb through it. On top of the mound, he emerges into the orange-purple of a sunset, pockmarked by the occasional cloud which could band together and send more radioactive snow down on them. From the look of the sky, that doesn’t seem likely, although the lack of cloud cover means the temperature tonight is going to plunge even further, so much they might feel it through their suits.

_+Alyosh.+_

_+Yes… the gap.+_

_+Street,+_ he supplies.

_+Street. In the street, a pile of the things with bones in them.+_

_+Cars. Yeah, I see the cars all jammed together.+_

_+You go to the side, not in front. The right side.+_

Artyom quickly pulls his map out and unfolds it, then looks. _+Aloshenka, there’s a nosalis nest that way, we’ll be eaten.+_

_+No, they sleep during the cold. They don’t have fur, it’s bad for them right now. They’re only awake underground until the warm comes back.+_

That makes a lot of sense, and Artyom breathes out in relief. _+Okay.+_ He traces his finger along the map. _+And after that?+_

_+The homes on both sides of the street all look the same. Go straight until they start to look different again, and I’ll be able to tell you more.+_

Artyom smiles under his mask as he realizes Alyosha is trying not to torture him with too many complicated directions. _+Spasebo, Alyosh. We’ll be going again soon, how many days until we see you?+_

_+I don’t know, not too many. You and your friends are strong. We’ll see - ARTYOM, CAREFUL!+_

A screech, not quite a roar, and then he’s knocked backwards by something. Artyom tumbles headfirst into the staircase, but he manages to land mostly on his arm and shoulder. He yanks his Kalash off his back in time to see a demon, an adolescent one that’s small enough to fit in a hallway, folding up its wings to its back and crawling after him. Artyom scrambles to his feet and practically throws himself down the stairs.

He has a radio, but that won’t help him now. His only hope is that between his pounding boots and the barking snarls of the demon there’s enough noise to alert his fellows to the danger. At least, since it can’t fly here, he has a chance to be fast enough and avoid it until he gets back to the others.

Or maybe not. A big clawed paw smacks hard against him from behind, pitching him further down onto a landing and tearing one of the straps on his backpack. Artyom hits the floor face-first and can barely drag himself up in time, but his bearings are off and he ends up falling down the next section, this time landing hard on his weapon and definitely bruising his ribs. How many floors is this? He has to get to number seven, but they’re not marked. Even a young demon is too tough for him to shoot to death by himself, so his choice is to run. That’s all he can do.

Artyom finally gets on his feet again and sprints downwards, almost tripping every other step because he’s in pain and getting more and more disoriented. All the doors look the same, how will he find them?

And then something even worse comes: he can hear a second demon, a full-grown one, roaring outside. After that is the smashing of glass and guns going off. So his friends are in danger, but at least he can follow the sound and find them now.

Artyom’s so intent on not being eaten that he almost runs right by it - there! The door marked with the gas mask symbol. He bangs on it frantically for a second, then shoulders his rifle and starts shooting the demon chasing him. It snarls in pain and blood sprays from it in a couple spots, but still it comes forward, barely pushed back by the bullets. Artyom wishes desperately that he’d had time, somehow, to load his gun with MGRs instead. That’s the last thing he gets to think before the monster jumps on him, and he’s pinned there with its jagged fanged jaws snapping at his face. He braces one hand under its throat and pushes with all his strength, holding it off even if he’s not strong enough to choke it. It’s all he can do, and who knows how long he can do it for anyway.

The door crashes open and then the rhythmic boom of a Saiga - Artyom is showered with gore as the creature is messily blasted away from him with seven rounds of buckshot, and then Pavel is there, grabbing him by the neck of his suit and dragging him up.

“We need to go!” he announces, and the four of them are charging down the stairs in a cluster, knocking into each other and almost falling.

At the bottom, Motya creeps out through the door first, rifle pointed to the sky. Edik follows after him and checks the street in a sweeping motion and eventually settles a couple meters up, guarding the direction they need to go. Artyom leaves next and begins moving up with Pasha right behind him, and they begin plowing into the growing darkness, feet dragged by the snow.

Artyom’s chest aches after he landed on his Kalash earlier and it’s harder to breathe through his mask than normal. Is his filter clogged? He reaches up to feel the opening and it’s clear. As the adrenalin fades, every one of his breaths starts to stab him on the right side and he begins to lag. He can’t lag, he’s in front, that demon will probably come back and they’ll need to run again. Oh, god…

He knows this feeling. He knows exactly what’s happened, this has happened to him before after getting shot in the chest because ballistic plates can keep bullets from going through but the concussive force is still there, it can still cause damage. He’s broken at least one rib, probably two. It hurts, it hurts, it’s all he can think about as they trudge along.

Artyom nudges Pasha with one hand and lets his rifle dangle by the sling off his shoulder so he can talk. *PASHA I’M HURT*

Pasha’s blue eyes get huge behind his mask. *WHERE?*

*CHEST. FELL DOWN BROKE RIB ON STAIRS*

A nod. *OKAY, WE FIND NEW SAFE SPOT. BANDAGE AND PAINKILLERS* Pasha quietly snaps his fingers to get Motya’s attention. “Where’s the closest shelter?”

“A kilometer and a half up. It’s not clean, though, we’ll still need masks.”

“ _Dyavol…_ where’s the next clean one?”

“Nowhere near here.”

* * *

“Hold your breath, d’Artagnan,” Pavel orders, then pulls Tyoma’s mask off. They hurry to take the wool overshirt and the thin cotton undershirt after it, and then the respirator goes back on. “ _Tak…_ okay. Grab my shoulders, hold still.”

Pavel tries to do the bandage as quickly as he can while still doing a good job, but he’s distracted because he can feel his friend shaking with cold. As his hands pass over the bruised spot, an extra-loud exhale bursts from Tyoma’s mask - the equivalent to a scream. After that his breathing is quick and shallow, he’s in so much pain. Pavel fucking hates that so much. He ties off the bandage and opens the _aptechka_ , finds what he needs. A swipe of alcohol and then he’s jamming a needle of morphine into Tyoma’s upper arm. This gets a flinch, but then his friend immediately relaxes with a quiet sigh.

His trembling hands let go of Pavel’s shoulders. *BETTER NOW*

“I’ll carry some of your shit for you,” he offers, stuffing the little orange case back into Tyoma’s pack and then digging. Cans, water - heavy things. The only other heavy thing is ammo, and obviously he can’t take that, so Pavel piles the food into his own pack and closes both of them.

Artyom’s clothes get done back up and they slowly leave the apartment - it’s on the ground floor and has a broken window, so nobody could make it “clean” when it was set up. Now it’s a glorified foxhole for stalkers to sit down for a few minutes before moving on.

“Your job is to keep him alive,” Motya is quietly growling to Edik while pointing at Artyom. “If he’s dead, we don’t get paid, and I can’t be watching his ass all the time. So from now on you never get more than three meters from him if you can help it.”

“Sir, I have a question.”

An exasperated sigh. “What.”

“Don’t you think he can take care of himself? He’s a Ranger, after all.”

Motya looks at Artyom now, very pointedly, to make sure he can be heard. “So far I’m not that impressed. He runs headfirst into radiation hotspots and leads monsters in that destroy shelters.”

“It never occurred to you that was an accident, _mudak?_ ” Pavel demands. “We’re on the surface, shit happens sometimes.”

*STOP. ENOUGH. WE WASTING TIME FIGHTING AND NEED TO GET MOVING*

And they’re off again. Pavel trails towards the back with Motya, trying to keep an eye on the sides and rear, while Edik now walks shoulder-to-shoulder with Tyoma. Even with the morphine, Pavel can tell - it still hurts. He’s glad he took all those cans even if some of them are digging into his back. Anything to help Tyoma, to make sure the bad rib bothers him as little as possible considering the circumstances.

Pavel tugs his tankman’s helmet down a little further on his head and wishes he’d worn an _ushanka_ or something instead - the cold is getting to him a little. Edik is fidgeting too, tucking his chin to his chest as much as he can with a filter in the way. Motya and Tyoma are downright shivering, Motya probably because he’s old and Tyoma definitely because he’s hurt and it took a lot out of him. Their breaths steam thickly from the outlet valves on their masks and leave tiny ice crystals at the edges of their visors.

The feeling starts to go out of his fingers and toes, his fingers especially. They’re under rubber gloves and holding a metal gun. At least his boots are a little bit padded so his feet aren’t quite as bad. Pavel starts lying to himself, thinking over and over again that he’s actually perfectly warm, ignoring the pain in his hands and feet. Besides, as long as the four of them keep moving, they’ll be okay.

Eventually he stops feeling his toes completely. Right around the same time, Edik starts begging Motya to stop and let him warm up for a minute. Pavel can’t move his fingers and his mask is frozen to his face.

There are no shelters here… they’ll have to make one. That’s not ideal, actually it’s something you never want to have to do, but there’s no other choice. They’re all about to have frostbite and pretty soon there’s going to be so much ice in their masks that the valves won’t open anymore.

“That one,” Motya decides, indicating a building. “We’ll have a fire. We can’t stay here too long, watchmen come through sometimes. They’ll smell the smoke.”

They drag themselves inside and up four flights of stairs somehow. An empty apartment with a kitchen, Pavel’s dosimeter says this place is clean enough that they can sit for awhile but not so clean that they can take off their masks. He watches as Tyoma digs up a big metal soup pot from the kitchen that they can have their fire in. The living room has a couch that pulls out into a bed but they don’t unfold it yet. Pavel, who can’t move his fingers enough to let go of his shotgun, sits next to Edik, who by now is whimpering in pain.

Motya builds their fire while Tyoma comes over to pry Pavel’s hands open. They all drop their things and peel off their hazard suits to huddle around the small leaping flames in just winter clothes and respirators. Pavel stuffs his hands into his armpits to warm them up. Body heat is the best way to do it, everyone knows that, so while the fire warms up his body his body can warm up his fingers.

*TWO HOURS* Tyoma decides. *EAT FIRST. THAW MASKS. I’M HURT, PASHA HAS FROSTBITE, WE SLEEP FIRST THEN TAKE SECOND SHIFT. AFTER THAT GO UNTIL DAWN*

“We can’t take our masks off here,” Edik protests.

“Something you gotta learn in a hurry is you’ll always end up doing something you can’t actually do up here,” Motya argues, staring Edik down. “Sometimes the mask has to come off. You tie cloth around your face in the meantime. It can’t be helped. And you want to die, so what difference does it make?”

“Yes, sir. But I’d rather die suddenly. Not from a poisoning.”

“You can’t sleep with these on anyway,” the old stalker points out, rummaging his pack and coming up with a can of shrimp soup which gets stuck right in the middle of the fire to warm it. “You’ll suffocate after awhile… you have to breathe hard enough to open the valves, which you can do when you’re awake. But when you fall asleep you breathe a lot slower. So the valves don’t open and you’re just sucking your own breath over and over. If that goes on too long it’ll kill you. In dirty places, you tie a handkerchief over your face and hope for the best.”

Pavel didn’t actually know that until now - he’s never had to sleep wearing a mask before. He shares a look with Tyoma, who shrugs. Learning about this only proves even more that the grumpy old bastard really knows what he’s talking about.

The masks come off and are set near the fire so the ice can melt out of them. They wear gloves so they don’t burn themselves on the can and pull their face-cloths down long enough to take bites as the shrimp soup is passed around in a circle. Just having hot food going down his throat makes Pavel start to perk up again, and it looks like it does the same thing for the others. He can’t remember ever getting as cold before as he did tonight and now that he’s starting to get closer to normal again it kinda scares him. Would they have all frozen to death if they didn’t stop?

*SLEEP IN SAME BED* Tyoma informs him. *WARMER, BETTER*

*OKAY* Pavel agrees, not even thinking about it. Of course he wants to be warm. He wants Tyoma to be warm, too.

Once the can is empty, they move the fire over next to the couch and lay out Pavel’s bedroll on it after unfolding the bed-part. Pavel ties his cloth tighter to his face, then pulls off his boots and his belt. The masks are left to thaw for a couple more minutes and he wonders how they’ll know whose is whose for a second while he climbs in after his friend. Pavel wraps himself around Tyoma from behind, curling them together deep in the bedroll. They’re warm again already and he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:
> 
> Spasibo - Thank you
> 
> Dyavol - Literally, devil. This is an exclamation/swear word if it's not being used in a religious context.
> 
> Tak - So. For instance: "kak zh tak," how so. Pavel mutters this occasionally in the Russian version and so I've heard he does it a lot in the English dub too for some reason.
> 
> Aptechka - This word can be translated as either first aid box or pharmacy. In general, an item or location storing drugs of some kind.
> 
> Mudak - This is an insult that as far as I've been able to tell means a very specific thing in Russian... however, no English translation can agree on what that meaning is. So, here are the most common ones: asshole, motherfucker.
> 
> Ushanka - Hat with earflaps, the stereotypical Russian winter hat.
> 
> Fun fact: I almost froze to death once. It's not a very interesting story so I won't tell it here.
> 
> Other fun fact: I almost suffocated wearing the exact type of respirator they have in this fic/in the game! So my boyfriend for some damn reason likes tuna casserole (yuck), the smell of which makes me physically ill. His mom, in her infinite wisdom, decided to make some for him in the crock pot at our house and just leave it to cook all day. I didn't want to spend ten hours outside the house in fucking October, so I sat around wearing my respirator and watching Scrubs on DVD. Eventually I got tired and took a nap. It took me like five tries to wake up after, and eventually I realized I was suffocating so the adrenalin from that was enough to get me going again. I went outside and took the mask off and was left to wonder how many brain cells I lost during the incident. So, yes, you can asphyxiate if you sleep in a gas mask. This made a little bit of a challenge for the writing of this scene.


	5. Special Relationships

Waking up again, Artyom is kind of surprised he actually slept at all. He hadn’t really meant to even though there were other people to stand guard. But then Pasha snuggled right up to him and he felt warm and safe, and now he’s awake and he still feels warm and safe and he barely even cares that his rib hurts and he’s hungry.

He starts to sit up, but Pasha grumbles a little, pulls him in closer, and is still again. Artyom grins to himself and not for the first time wishes he had a voice to laugh with, because it’s very funny that this tough Red Line officer is cuddling him like a teddy bear. He tries to move a second time, jostling his friend on purpose and getting more mumbled sounds that aren’t quite words. Artyom holds up his hands so Pasha can see them.

*GET UP, OUR WATCH*

“ _Blin…_ ” Pasha mutters. “Alright, I’m going.”

The first thing they do is try to figure out who goes with which mask - Artyom tries on three of them until he finds the one that’s adjusted to his head. Pasha has an easier time because for some reason he always pulls his straps all the way open when he takes his off, so he finds the right mask immediately. Meanwhile Motya and Edik lie down in their bedrolls as close to the fire as possible, Motya on the couch and Edik on the floor. Artyom tends the fire in its pot for a second and then pulls out his journal.

_So far, my trip to find Alyosha has been difficult. I expected that, but it’s still frustrating. Only once, I’d like to accomplish a task easily and quickly, with no long hikes involved. I’m not going to keep my hopes up for that any time soon though._

_Our biggest enemy here is the cold. New Years comes ten days from now, 2038. The cold is simply everywhere, like radiation - we can’t see it, we can barely guard ourselves from it. It’s not stopped by anything or driven away with gunfire. It simply is, and we can only cope as best as we know how. The main problem is that it’s always worse after the sun sets. We can only walk at night because Edik would be blinded, maybe permanently - he was born in the underground. Motya is about as affected by a daytime cycle as I am, which is to say not at all. Pashka is somewhere in between… I think he could do it, but it would be hard for him. He hasn’t been to the surface as much as Motya or I have._

_On the topic of Motya, his experience is invaluable so far. He seems to know the location of every hideaway, every stash. He mentioned that he’s been stalking for as long as the concept of being a stalker has existed, and it shows. His personality is about as lively and pleasant as cracked boot rubber, but I’m glad he’s here. Hiring him was a sound choice and I’m glad to pay him as much as I agreed to. Despite his crankiness and generally grim attitude, I get a strong feeling that he’s trustworthy and he’s already proven himself to be extremely smart. He’s an honest stalker and a hard worker. I would definitely hire him again after this if I needed help on the surface._

_Edik, on the other hand… I don’t find Edik to be annoying or a hindrance. My issue is that he’s so young and inexperienced. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and he is that link right now. I understand that stalkers don’t immediately begin their careers strong as steel but hopefully Motya can temper him into that steel, and soon. His naivety could put us all in danger. He’s got promise, though. He doesn’t panic during emergencies and he has a good tactical sense, or maybe he’s trained well. He doesn’t usually complain unless it’s really important. Someday, Edik could make a very good stalker. That day simply hasn’t arrived yet._

_The most difficult thing for me at the moment isn’t having a broken rib; I understand that Alyoshenka has forgiven me, that his kin have forgiven me. He told me right before they left to make a new home for themselves that he could see, after journeying across the surface with me and the battle at D6, how I could misunderstand, how I simply didn’t know better. He forgave me for being stupid and ignorant._

_Following that logic, we can forgive the Nazis for everything they’ve done, not only the ones here in the metro but also the ancient kind from a century ago. Many of them, so I’ve read, were brainwashed and so didn’t understand that other people were still people. But those Nazis were hanged for their crimes. At times, I feel as though I too should’ve been executed for what I did. Ignorance and stupidity, naivety, an inability to understand… those aren’t excuses and they should never be accepted as such. I’ll never not feel guilty for what I did to his family._

_Reflecting on this, though, it also occurs to me finally that maybe that’s why I was forgiven._

_I committed an atrocity against innocents without realizing it at the time. But once I learned that I was in the wrong, that this was for sure an irredeemable crime, I’ve never not felt guilty for doing it. Alyosha certainly knew this about me. He could see that I learned, that I acknowledged and owned up to this wrong. That’s what earns forgiveness… you must understand first of all that you’re guilty, and second of all that even when this forgiveness is offered you never truly deserve it. Or at least I don’t. I don’t think I ever will._

*LOTS OF THOUGHTS IN YOUR HEAD TONIGHT?* Pasha asks.

Artyom nods and slips his journal back into his pack. *ALWAYS WRITE DOWN MY TRAVELS. EVEN THE UNIMPORTANT ONES*

Pasha quietly scoots closer to him. *SHARE SOME?*

Artyom smiles even though it’s hidden under his respirator. *OKAY*

He pulls it back out again and flips a long way back until he finds something good for his friend to read.

 _A journey in darkness_ _  
_ _But not by choice, they plunged us into the black_ _  
_ _Hoping for us to be eaten_ _  
_ _But we’re not appetizing, we’re too bright for this darkness_ _  
_ _The legs scrabble but can’t hold on_ _  
_ _They’re hard and strong in the dark_ _  
_ _But under our brightness they crack, they realize_ _  
_ _That we taste bad and we’re not here to give them a snack_ _  
_ _And maybe I wouldn’t be so bright_ _  
_ _Without a friend, a comrade_ _  
_ _To make me even brighter_ _  
_ _We’re much brighter and much less tasty together_ _  
_ _We find the way out of the dark_ _  
_ _We haven’t been eaten_ _  
_ _And the brightness surrounds us again_

*I LIKE IT* Pasha announces, in big exaggerated movements that invite no argument.

Artyom grins and shakes his head, pointing to himself. *BAD AT POETRY BUT I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT ENJOY IT*

*NO. IT’S GOOD* Pasha insists.

Artyom pokes at the fire a little more, trying to keep it warm for the two slumbering stalkers. *PASHA*

*WHAT?*

*THANK YOU FOR SHARING BED WITH ME. NICE AND COZY. FELT SAFE*

Pasha nods slightly, glancing away for a second. Artyom likes to think, now, that his friend is turning pink under that mask.

*GOOD. I WANTED YOU FEEL COZY SINCE YOU’RE HURT. MEANS I DID MY JOB* He clears his throat, even though he’s talking with his hands. *RIBS HURT?*

*NOT MUCH NOW. MAYBE ONCE WE MOVING AGAIN BUT CAN WORRY ABOUT THAT LATER. I HAVE MORE MORPHINE IF NECESSARY*

They sling their arms across each other’s shoulders and huddle up over the fire, trying to soak in the warmth for the rest of the march to come before dawn breaks. Artyom thinks, very randomly, that he’ll always feel warmer when Pasha’s around.

* * *

Pavel keeps getting distracted by thoughts of the poem as they trudge along in silence through the frigid street. Tyoma writes poetry about him, about _them._ He grins for a second at the idea of his friend maybe creating a whole epic novel about their misadventures someday, later on when they’re old and tired and not in their militaries anymore. Little kids could grow up reading about an unlikely friendship between a Spartan with psychic powers and a Red Line officer.

There’s no tracks in the snowdrifts around them… no watchmen have been here, or at least not for probably a couple days. They can relax a little for the time being, and that means quiet talking. Demons might still fly over, after all.

*ALYOSHA MUCH BIGGER WHEN WE SEE HIM* Tyoma says.

*HOW MUCH?*

*TEENAGER SIZE MAYBE*

And in the background: “What are they saying when they do that?”

“How the fuck should I know? Ask them.”

Edik appears at Pavel’s left elbow. “Can I ask something, sir?”

“ _Ladna,_ what is it?”

“When you - with your hands - what do you talk about?”

“Nothing important,” Pavel snorts. “We’ve been friends awhile, mostly we’re just talking.”

“It looks like it’s really helpful for being out here,” the rookie stalker comments. “Mutants can’t hear you.”

*YES HELPFUL FOR THAT, NOT WHY I CAME UP WITH IT* Tyoma says. *BORN WITH NO VOICE. CAN’T EVEN SCREAM LAUGH WHISPER. NONE OF IT. MADE UP WORDS FOR MY HANDS WHEN I WAS A LITTLE KID*

“So how do people understand?”

*KNOW THEM FOR AWHILE. OR I WRITE TO TEACH THEM. PASHA LEARNED IT RIGHT AWAY*

“Do you think he’d teach me some?” Edik asks when Pavel finishes translating.

“ _Ne nado,_ he showed you the combat signals, right? You don’t need more than that,” Pavel answers.

*WON’T SHOW HIM MORE. ONLY FOR PEOPLE I KNOW* Tyoma says.

“What was that?” Edik wonders.

“He’s just agreeing. You got hired, you won’t probably see him again after this mission, so it’s not really important.”

Secretly, selfishly, this makes him feel stupidly happy - he has something special with Tyoma and he gets it all to himself. Tyoma even told him he’s the only one who’s been able so far to sign without also speaking the words as he does it. Nobody else is fluent in Tyoma’s language like Pavel is. He wants to hang onto that, that specialness, even though he could never admit it if someone asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:
> 
> Blin - This word actually means pancake, but in this context it translates to "damn" or "dammit"
> 
> Ne nado - Not needed, unnecessary. (It's also the title of one of my favorite songs ever, done by the group Russky Razmer in the 90s. Look them up, or at least this one song, it's stupidly catchy and you'll never get it out of your head.)


	6. All The Steam, Rising

A bellowing roar comes from above and Artyom dives for cover.

That cover is the doorway of a building. He can’t get inside because the stairs are collapsed, but he’s far enough that the demon probably can’t reach him. Looking around the wall, Edik and Pasha have scrambled underneath of some cars.

Motya is out in the middle of the street.

Artyom has never seen any stalker fight a demon by choice. Demons are so horrible that they even eat librarians and giant shrimp, they can knock over vehicles and sometimes tear their way into shelters. You don’t fight them. You _run._

Motya doesn’t run.

He flings all his equipment and extra guns to the side, and tuck-rolls across the snow as the monster is about to snatch him. Motya’s back on his feet again in a second and firing his Saiga up at it, emptying an entire magazine of shotgun shells into the sky. And then the demon just… drops. It takes a second to be able to see the reason why - there’s a massive hole blown through its wing. Now roaring in pain, it shakes itself and gets back on its clawed paws.

“QUIT PISSING YOURSELVES AND START SHOOTING, YOU DUMBASSES!” Motya bellows at them, scrambling over to where his assault rifle lies with his gear.

Artyom is so amazed that he doesn’t know how to do anything else except obey. The street is filled with the sounds of weapons discharging and the demon starts to buckle under the waves of bullets getting pumped into it. It still snarls and tries to crawl towards them, but they’ve filled it with so many holes that its blood is melting the snow and creating a red pool under it. Its legs go down and it lies there, still snapping its jaws.

“Feel free to step in next time you see a mutant attacking, dumbfucks,” Motya snarls, scooping up his equipment with sharp, angry motions. He glares at Edik especially through his mask. “I hope you were paying attention.”

Edik’s eyes are huge and he just nods. Artyom and Pasha don’t say anything, and all Artyom can do is think to himself that this stalker is more than worth the money. His flashlight glances off something shiny and he gets uncomfortably close to the thing to look - there’s shards of glass in its front paw. He waves a hand at Pasha.

*SAME ONE FROM APARTMENT, RUINED SHELTER*

Pasha stands beside him and looks, too. “Shit, Tyomuchka. It really wanted us for a snack, eh?”

*WE DID KILL ITS BABY* Artyom points out.

“They tried to eat us first,” his friend shrugs.

The telltale howls of a pack of watchmen sounds, coming from both ends of the road. Artyom freezes where he is and slowly looks up… four of them are hesitantly prowling forward, snarling deep in their throats with their tails whipping back and forth. Over his shoulder - another three, also advancing.

“Hold still,” Motya hisses through his mask. “Wait.”

“For what?!” Pasha demands in a whisper.

“Back slowly up to the sides,” the stalker orders quietly. “Don’t reach for your guns. Just back up, and don’t stare at them. And for fuck’s sake, go slow.”

Artyom and Pasha end up pressed to the building with Edik, playing stares with Motya across the street. All seven watchmen immediately crowd up to the still-dying demon and begin ripping it to pieces, eating it alive. Great clouds of steam rise into the air from the warmth of the monster’s blood and the noise of ripping flesh is so gristly Artyom starts to feel nauseous.

The four of them start creeping away from the carnage and the watchmen just let them go. It makes sense, though; the mostly-dead demon is an easy, effort-free meal. Four humans with guns would be a lot harder to bring down for food.

“Are there more of them?” Edik asks once they’re at least two hundred meters away from the mutants.

“Not around here. Watchmen packs have territories. We’ll be safe from any of them for awhile.”

Artyom checks his watch: 03:49. They have some time to go before they need to take shelter again.

_+Alyoshka?+_

_+Artyom?+_

_+Yes, it’s me. The buildings are starting to change like you said.+_

_+Good. Can you get high up again to let me see?+_

_+I can try, hang on.+_

Artyom snaps his fingers to get the others’ attention. *HAVE TO CLIMB THE ROOF OF A BUILDING TO FIND DIRECTIONS*

“There could be demons up there,” Pasha points out.

*NO, WOULD BE ATTRACTED TO NOISE FROM THE GUNFIRE* Artyom slaps his friend’s shoulder. *BRING STALKER TO ROOF. YOU STAY ON STREET WITH STUDENT IN COVER, GUARD US*

“ _Otlichno._ You’re the boss, Tyomka.”

* * *

“Can I ask something?” Edik whispers.

They’re both crouched inside the entrance of the apartment building. As far as Pavel can tell, it’s been about ten minutes since Tyoma and Motya began climbing the stairs to go have a look at the terrain.

“What, kid?”

“What is it with you and that guy?”

“We made friends years ago. I made a bad mistake that almost got him killed… somehow he forgave me. I never deserved it.”

“Oh.” Edik’s so quiet and sad all the time, and now’s no different. “You don’t see that so much, usually. I guess you’re really lucky that your friends love you so much.”

“Not friends like more than one,” Pavel says. “Just him. Nobody else would’ve forgave me.”

“People died sometimes because of things I did,” the kid admits. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. I’m trying to make up for it I guess. My papa says I’m turning into a good stalker. But that doesn’t fix anything. They’re still dead.”

“Yeah, well, you should get used to that. Shit like that never leaves you,” Pavel warns.

“How do you live with it?”

He shrugs. “What else am I going to do, roll over and die? Look, _malchik._ You can’t go back to undo that shit and those dead people also don’t care anymore. You should be more interested in what the living are up to, because a lot of times they make the difference between your own life or death. That’s really all there is to it and if you’re going to be a stalker you should try to get in that mindset as soon as you can. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pavel watches his own breath steam in front of his face for awhile after they stop talking. It’s starting to form ice crystals on the very edge of his visor and hopefully Tyoma will get done talking to Alyosha soon, because sitting still makes it hard to stay warm. Pavel’s starting to have pimple-skin under his hazard suit already.

The most interesting thing that happens while they wait is the same pack of watchmen passing by in the street, plodding along slowly and licking their chops. One of them seems to notice Pavel, but it also clearly doesn’t care because it’s fed and he’s not shooting at it.

“Good thing for your mentor, eh?” he says, glancing over at Edik. “If we just hid from the demon, those fuckers would’ve eaten us instead.”

“He always says he hopes that when he dies it’s up here instead of down in the dark.”

“Makes sense. When I was a recruit I heard a couple of the old-guy officers saying the same thing. They’re all like that, they were born up here and they want to get killed up here, too.”

“Were you born before it happened?”

“Yeah, but just barely. Tyoma and I were babies when it happened, I think he was four maybe. I was just three. I don’t remember enough to miss it.”

Pavel scratches ice off his visor with his fingertips. He’s got thermal gloves under his rubber ones, but his fingers are starting to get a little cold again. Winter isn’t made for people. He sets down his gun and flexes his hands a bunch of times to get blood moving in them again, and it helps after awhile but he knows it’s just going to happen again.

He’s never had to spend so much time up on the surface all at once before. He’s jealous of Tyoma and Motya, they’re unbothered by most of this shit and go through the dangers as easy as breathing air. Meanwhile there’s Pavel, who has some experience but isn’t actually trained as a stalker, and Edik, who’s learning to be one but will go blind immediately after the sun even thinks about coming up.

In a weird way, though, Pavel’s glad to be here.

It’s not just about saving his line, his station, his friends, his family, his comrades. They’re so important and without them he wouldn’t be out here at all, risking frostbite and ARS all night. He’s here because Tyoma asked him, personally, to come along on this mission. He’s helping his best friend accomplish something big and important. That’s what keeps him warm while he’s out in the snow, knowing that he gets to try his best to help out a friend.

Especially when that friend is Tyoma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:
> 
> Malchik - boy. Pavel's condescending Edik a little bit here, Edik's only a few years younger than him but he's a lot more experienced.
> 
> Check out more [great fanart](https://aaronthe8thdemon.tumblr.com/post/616487680725942272/and-more-great-fanart-for-the-fic-this-one-was-a) by the same guy who did the drawings linked in the first chapter!


	7. Nest

Artyom and Pasha have the first watch.

Edik and Motya are curled up in opposite corners of the room in their bedrolls, already snoring away after the four of them ate another can of shrimp soup. To fight off the cold, Pasha gave up a can of mushroom conserve as well, and all of them but Motya had sips of his vodka-tea cocktail. Now, they’re waiting out the daylight.

This shelter is a good one. It used to be a candy store according to Motya (whatever that actually is) and there’s a stockroom in the back with no windows and a door that can only lock from the inside. The windows in the rest of the store are in good condition, too, so the stockroom is clean enough that they don’t have to worry about wearing masks.

*CLOGGED SOON* Pasha says, holding up his filter.

*HERE*

Artyom reaches into his pack and pulls out a clean one for his friend. They’re doing equipment stuff to keep themselves busy for the next two hours, which means checking their compatriots’ gear as well. Motya’s and Edik’s filters and masks are fine once Artyom has dug the ice out of the valves. His own mask has a large chip at the bottom of the visor that’ll probably graduate to a life-threatening crack sometime soon, but there’s not much he can do about that except put a piece of adhesive tape over it and hope for the best.

They move to the suits next, lying them out quietly over the floor. Artyom pulls one of the plastic cans of paste out of his backpack and begins smearing the rubber with it to take up the contamination. He has to wonder how they discovered this stuff, because right now it’s one of his favorite things. Keeping their hazard suits clean will help limit their radiation exposure and protect the suits themselves from wearing out as quickly.

About halfway down on the front of the first suit he twists his upper body a little too quickly and immediately freezes in pain, breathing out as slowly as he can and moving a hand to feel his chest through his shirt.

*RIBS HURT?* Pasha asks.

*IT’S NOT BAD* Artyom lies.

This gets him a head-shake.

*THE SHIRT COMES OFF* Pasha orders, rummaging briefly for the _aptechka._ *I KNOW LITTLE BIT ABOUT MEDICAL STUFF, SHOULD’VE CHECKED YOU BETTER THE FIRST TIME*

Artyom grins and first signs *LAUGHING* before saying *NOT REALLY HAVE TIME FOR THAT FIRST TIME PASHA*

Pasha shakes his head again. *NOT FUNNY* His motions are bigger and more demanding after that. *SHIRT. OFF. YOU NEED PAINKILLERS*

Artyom keeps smiling at him for a second before complying… or at least he tries to. Pulling a wool overshirt off with at least one bad rib is much harder than it sounds and after about ten seconds he sits still and catches his breath with most of his sweater bunched under his arms. Thank god Pasha comes over and does it for him, all he has to do is hold up his arms. It gets set aside and his undershirt goes next, and then Pasha is lightly feeling through the bandage. Sometimes this makes him flinch back a little in pain, but usually it’s harmless.

A small cloth with strong alcohol is rubbed on his arm and then a needle of morphine gets speared into the muscle there. As it kicks in, Artyom slumps forward, letting his weight rest against Pasha for a second. A rough palm gently strokes his back and he relaxes into the warmth of his friend. He thinks - a lot of people would find this weird. Artyom wouldn’t probably be so vulnerable with Gennady or Fedir, or Sam, or Ulman back when he was still alive. But it’s easy with Pasha. It’s easy to let it happen and it’s easy to just not question it.

When Artyom recovers from the immediate rush of the drug, he sits up again and pulls his undershirt back on, still a little slowly because he doesn’t want to push his luck. *PROGNOSIS?*

Pasha chuckles. *WELL YES I AM FOR REAL A DOCTOR AFTER ALL*

*LAUGHING*

*I THINK ONE RIB. IT GOT CRACKED MAYBE OR A VERY BAD BRUISE. YOU NOT IN DANGER FROM IT*

*GOOD*

*LAND ON IT?*

*YES. DEMON PUSH ME DOWN STAIRS AND FALL ON TOP RIFLE*

Pasha nods and looks down for a second. There’s something sharp in his eyes, making them an even brighter blue than usual.

*SCARED ME. WHEN YOU LOOK AT ME IN THE STREET, SAY PASHA I’M HURT. I HATED THAT*

*BETTER NOW* Artyom promises.

One of Pasha’s hands reaches out again, resting on his chest near the injured spot but not touching it. The warmth comes through Artyom’s undershirt and seeps into his skin, making him forget that he’s not wearing his sweater - he’s suddenly hot all over. Were they always sitting this close to each other?

Once, when Artyom was about eleven or so, he and Yevgeny had gotten it into their heads that if they were supposed to have girlfriends when they got bigger, then they should get good at kissing ahead of time by practicing on each other. They were both clumsy and awkward at it, but otherwise it had gone fine until an adult had almost caught them.

This isn’t really the same as that. Their foreheads are resting together first and both of them are holding their breath. Pasha’s hand is still on his ribs, so Artyom slowly rests a palm on Pasha’s shoulder. He closes his eyes.

That’s what does it. Pasha comes to him, all he has to do is wait patiently for a few seconds. It’s light at first, their mouths are closed, and when neither of them pulls back it gets a little more involved - Artyom sucks Pasha’s lower lip between his teeth and draws a quiet noise that’s almost begging but mostly pleased both at once. Pasha tastes like tea and mushrooms. Artyom’s palm slides up some to rest on the side of his neck. It’s slow… they’re in no hurry.

Eventually they separate from each other, pulling their hands back as well so they can talk.

*SHOULD I BE SORRY?* Pasha asks.

Artyom immediately shakes his head. *NO. IF YOU SORRY THEN I HAVE TO BE SORRY TOO*

*GOOD. THEN I NOT SORRY* Pasha declares.

*ME NEITHER*

And it’s so easy with Pasha - Artyom doesn’t have to question this at all.

* * *

They manage to get the hazard suits all clean about halfway through their watch. While smearing the moss paste over the rubber fabric, their fingertips brush sometimes, which makes them look at each other real quick and smile. Pavel feels warm and happy. He doesn’t really _know_ what this is, but he also doesn’t care that there’s no word for it, either. It feels like they’re so close right now even when they’re not touching or are across the room from each other.

Once the suits are done they sit on the floor with the map. Tyoma pulls out a pencil.

*MARK SOME THINGS*

*WHICH THINGS?* Pavel asks.

*SHELTERS MOTYA SHOW TO US MOSTLY. GOOD RECON INFO FOR SPARTA*

Together they mark down: shelters, the rough patrol area of that pack of watchmen that ate the demon Motya shot down, radiation readings in Botanichesky Sad and a couple other spots. And Pavel likes this, too. Working quietly on some small project with Tyoma is really satisfying.

They don’t talk very much after that, but it’s okay because it’s a pretty comfortable silence. Tyoma seems like he’s smiling a lot more than usual - normally he’s really serious about most stuff. That makes Pavel smile more, too.

At the end of their watch, before they turn in, Motya checks over the suits with his chunky Geiger counter and determines everything’s clean again.

Pavel’s a little surprised when Tyoma climbs into the same bedroll as him - it’s not all that cold in here - but it makes him happy. They curl up together and Pavel drifts off thinking that watchmen nests are probably cozy like this, furry bodies snuggled up and warm. He loves this feeling.


	8. Plenty Of Time

“We’ll tie a rope to something on the other side,” Motya finishes.

*ICE IS BAD. DON’T TRUST* Artyom says.

“And we have what other choice?” the stalker points out. “I’ve done this before many times.”

They all thread the free end of the rope through the straps on their backpacks and the slings of their rifles. The only one still armed is Pasha, who’ll cross last and bring the rope back with him. Artyom feels so naked without his guns. His backpack was mostly empty anyway because of his rib, so he doesn’t miss that as much, but without the solid four and a half kilos of a scoped and loaded Kalash in his arms he feels so light that he might float away from the earth. He picks up the free end of the rope and ties it around his waist with several thorough knots, then gets down and belly-crawls onto the ice.

Even in the dark, the hard surface of it seems to glow unnaturally. The wind occasionally dusts snow across it as he squirms forward and the tips of reeds poke up from it every so often. Artyom has had to cross this swamp before - it was a different part of the swamp, though, and it was spring, so there were shrimps everywhere. He knows for a fact that there’s a demon living about half a kilometer away and that’s much too close for comfort. But he can’t hurry. Rushing will put him in even more danger. Besides, as long as he’s slow and quiet, he’s a lot less likely to attract angry and unpleasant company.

At least, in this cold, all the shrimps have been driven down to flooded metro stations and he doesn’t have to put up with them at the moment. This would be significantly more difficult if there were big, slimy mutants wriggling around spitting acid at him.

Eventually he figures out a good, efficient way to move himself along with his arms and legs. Artyom wonders how funny this must look, him slipping his way very deliberately up the ice in starts and stops. Sometimes there are solid objects poking up from below that he can make a grab for and pull himself with. He looks up for a second - he has maybe five more meters to go. It’s annoying to have his face turned sideways all the time because of his respirator filter. He checks his watch - 00:13. They have plenty of time.

Finally, _finally,_ Artyom hits snow again. He drags himself the rest of the way to the safety of solid ground and gets up on his knees, struggling open all the knots in order to take the rope off his body. He re-ties the end around part of a car because that seems heavy enough that it’s not going to be moved by the weight of their equipment. Then, he grabs the rope and firmly jerks on it, twice and then twice again with a pause in-between.

One of the main problems is that they have to go one at a time, and now whoever’s crossing will be pushing backpacks and rifles along the rope as he goes, which will take much longer than Artyom needed to belly-crawl his way forward. He crouches beside the car and holds as still as possible, waiting for someone to turn up with his things.

That someone turns out to be Edik. Seventeen minutes after the rope was anchored, the rookie stalker is crawling into the snow with three backpacks and four rifles. Artyom unhooks the sling of his Kalash at one end so he can take it off the rope and then re-clips it, cradling the weapon in his arms like a baby. He feels whole again, much safer. Edik does the same thing, but their packs will have to stay there until everyone’s across.

Another twenty minutes and Motya arrives with the fourth backpack and the rest of the guns. The first thing he does is pull his survey meter out of his pack and strap it to his chest, then he slips several magazines for his assault rifle into the pouches on his belt.

“Do you see why it’s done this way?” he asks.

“Yes, sir. It’s that much less weight on the ice,” Edik answered.

“Exactly. Now, if you’re by yourself and have to do this, you take the rope and tie one end to your waist. Put everything in your pack and tie that at the other end so that it’ll drag behind you by about two and a half meters, then crawl forward the same way but pushing your gun out in front. That way the weight’s still spread out and you’re less likely to go through.”

Artyom stays where he is while Motya and Edik take up defensive positions nearby, watching for anything that wants to come eat them. Artyom has always felt like for this reason a three- or four-man team is the best size for an expedition to the surface. Two isn’t quite enough but is better than being alone. Five or more is too large and will attract a lot of attention. But with three other people, he’s very effective as a stalker and it’s the safest he can ever feel while being up here under the sky.

Eventually he can see Pasha finally getting closer, but this coincides with two very unfortunate noises. The first is the howl of a watchmen pack, which is close enough and loud enough to mean that the mutants have smelled Artyom’s group and are coming over to look for a meal. The second is a loud, ominous _crunch_ from the ice. Pasha’s reaction clearly says he hears both of these things, but he’s about seven meters out still. He gets up off his stomach to crawl faster and immediately falls through.

Artyom slings his rifle over his shoulder and grabs onto the rope, throwing it behind him until it’s no longer slack and then grabbing as tight as he can. He makes the mistake of wrapping it around one of his wrists in order to pull better, which hurts a lot more than he anticipated, but he ignores that and starts walking backwards until Pasha is dragged back up through the hole. Artyom yanks on the rope to slide Pasha up the ice to safety at the same moment as Motya and Edik start shooting.

Artyom grabs under his arms once he’s close enough and hauls him onto land, then rips his mask off so he can cough and sputter for a second. Artyom takes as big of a breath as he can hold and takes off his own mask so he can slip it down over Pasha’s face and then pull the straps tight. He grabs the wet mask - the filter is destroyed and gets unscrewed. All the water gets poured out of the facepiece. He digs in his pack for a filter and sticks it in the port as fast as possible, then puts the mask on his head and breathes out as hard as he can to clear it. The black rubber is so cold that it hurts his skin, but he can breathe again.

A watchman bounds over and tackles him just as he’s grabbing his assault rifle, but it’s blasted away with surgical precision by - of course - Motya before it can actually try to kill him. Artyom jumps to his feet and blows the head off another one right as it’s jumping for him. He’s aware of everything - the two stalkers are holding their own, Pasha’s still lying in the snow coughing. The timing of a shot disembowels a mutant and it drops into a pile with the shredded remains of its own intestines.

Artyom crouches beside Pasha again and pulls him into a sitting position. His breathing improves right away.

“Shit, Tyoma,” Pasha wheezes. “Next time you have to let me go first.”

The shooting has stopped and around them are several dead mutants. Artyom can sling his gun for a second. *WATER IN YOUR CLOTHES?*

“Nah, not really… maybe a little in my neck.”

Good. That’s very good. The rubber hazard suit kept him from getting soaked through, so he probably won’t get hypothermia and they won’t have to stop and find shelter so he can dry out again. Artyom nods, then hugs him tightly for a second. They’re really lucky Pasha didn’t just drown.

Everyone collects his gear and the rope is coiled up to be put back in Motya’s pack. Artyom digs up the stuff that Pasha took from him and returns it to his own backpack, not really caring if his rib is bothered.

Soon they’re crunching along again, moving up a street towards their goal. It’s starting to snow, the small flakes that end up in light fluffy mounds over everything and get blown around again by the wind later on. Hopefully it doesn’t do this for too long - if the snow gets much deeper, they’ll risk getting stuck.

Artyom very randomly realizes he’s hungry. None of them has eaten a full meal since this started, instead opening one or sometimes two cans and passing them around in a circle. Each can is maybe two hundred and fifty grams, which split between four grown men is nowhere near enough to sustain them for long. Artyom does some quick mental calculations - he knows he has four more cans at least in his pack, probably a few more than that. Presuming each of them has four cans (which is a pretty safe bet) and they continue doing what they’ve been doing, that’s sixteen days’ worth of food. But they also don’t have sixteen more days’ worth of water and if they’re on the surface for sixteen more days they’ll have been out here for over three weeks, which is unacceptable.

He taps Pasha’s shoulder. *FULL CAN EACH WHEN WE STOP FOR REST AGAIN. NEED TO BE BETTER NOURISHED. FIRE ALSO IN SHELTER IF POSSIBLE*

Pasha relays this and Motya immediately starts arguing, which means Artyom has to walk with his Kalash slung for a little bit while he explains. They’re not being sustained, they need to eat properly at least once every couple of days in order to keep moving. It’s inevitable.

* * *

“The best ones are usually in stores or apartments,” Motya’s telling Edik as they climb the stairs. “Banks are bad, bars and pubs aren’t great either. Government buildings are usually the worst, they’re in high-radiation areas. You can’t shelter there.”

Pavel’s feet are so heavy by the time they reach the one they’re looking for and he hopes like hell this apartment won’t end up like the last one did. The door’s marked the same, only this one is on the ninth floor instead of the seventh so it’s even more annoying to get to. It’s slightly open, too, which is alarming. Everyone everywhere knows you’re supposed to leave the doors closed unless you’re actually going through it right this second.

He holds up his fist and signs *WAIT* because he knows it’s one of a handful of words Tyoma taught the stalkers, then nudges the door open with the barrel of his gun and creeps forward. There’s drops of blood dotting a trail along the parquet, but it’s dried and looks old, so he follows it. In the toilet he finds a dead stalker. The body has its jacket and shirt off and bandages wrapped around its chest and right arm, which have blood showing through. The jacket and shirt are in a pile on the floor nearby with big gashes ripped in them - the poor fucker must’ve tried to patch himself up and then bled to death a few minutes later. He’s even still wearing his mask.

Pavel checks the rest of the rooms and they’re empty, so he goes back. “Dead body,” he reports. “The windows all look good.”

They end up with some shotgun shells and three more cans of who-knows-what which’ll probably have to get thawed before being eaten. The mask is in weirdly good shape, so Pavel ends up keeping it over the one with the chipped visor that he got from swapping with Tyoma earlier.

There’s some kind of metal thing in one of the windows directly over a steel plate on the floor, and in the middle of the steel plate is a pile of charcoal and ashes. Apparently some stalker has made a chute here so they can have a campfire in the shelter but still be safe breathing without masks.

Pavel drops his pack in a corner and just sits for a second while he watches Motya build a fire under the chute. The wood’s probably radioactive, too, but it doesn’t matter that much and it’ll warm up the room so they’ll sleep better. He’s starting to miss his bed in the officers’ barracks back home, because a bedroll on a floor isn’t as comfy.

Tyoma crouches next to him. *HOW MUCH WATER YOU BREATHE WHEN THE ICE BROKE?*

*NOT MUCH. LUNGS FEEL FINE* Pavel promises, and he’s not even lying. *GOOD THING YOU ON OTHER END OF THAT ROPE FOR ME*

Tyoma nods. *WOULD BE WORSE IF CLOTHES GET WET. BIG DELAY AND YOU PROBABLY GET SICK FROM IT, HAVE TO GO BACK TO METRO*

Four cans are set in the very edge of the fire in order to warm them up and Motya grills Edik a little bit on how to tend the fire itself. “Once a can exploded on me doing this… it doesn’t hardly ever happen, though, and you don’t got too much of a choice anyway.”

“Yes, sir.” The kid seems like he’s mostly just interested in a hot meal.

Pavel pulls out his tea-vodka and takes a big sip of it, then passes it to Tyoma. That more than anything warms him up right away, a good swig of liquor. He’s heard it’s actually bad to drink when you’re someplace cold, but he also doesn’t really care because he’s got a fire and Tyoma to keep him cozy.

Speaking of the fire, he and Tyoma both shuck their hazard suits and then settle right beside it with Pavel leaning on the wall and Tyoma leaning on Pavel. Motya raises an eyebrow at them for a second, but doesn’t say anything. Edik seems not to care at all, he’s too busy watching his can of pork _tushenka_ like that’ll heat it faster.

“Who’s up first?” Motya asks in his usual low grunt as they’re finally picking their meals out of the flames.

Tyoma pops open his can and then sets it aside before answering. *ME* and points to Motya. *TWO HOUR SHIFTS. WE KEEP FIRE GOING ALSO, THE WARM IS GOOD FOR OUR HEALTH*

“Sure.” Motya nods slightly and then starts eating.

Pavel is about to open his can of potatoes, but Tyoma takes it from him and then sets in his hands a gorgeous sight: two hundred and fifty grams of pork with mushrooms, shiny with delicious buttery grease. He balances it on his knee.

*NOT STEALING SUCH GOOD FOOD FROM YOU*

*ALMOST DROWNED. NEED NUTRIENTS. NOT ARGUING*

Pavel rolls his eyes. *SHARE THEN*

Tyoma waits for a beat. *OKAY*

So they pass their cans back and forth, alternating bites of potatoes with the much more delicious Ranger-issued food. It’s such a great feeling to eat a whole meal, and a hot one no less, rather than splitting one can for four guys and filling in the rest of his stomach with water. He’s full and perfectly warm for the first time since they left the metro, and as he feels Tyoma’s hand subtly slip inside his he can believe they’ll accomplish their goal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I got writers block... it might be a little bit until the next chapter goes up :(


	9. Never Let Go

Artyom pulls out his journal while Motya pokes at the fire.

_ We’re so far about halfway through our march to the Dark Ones’ new home. Alosha has been keeping us on track by periodically checking with me as we go, which I’m grateful for. Even so, it’s a slow and difficult journey - Pashka nearly drowned last night and I was almost eaten while rescuing him. But there was some luck, there, because Motya’s rope was a good strong one and didn’t break. Things in general could’ve gone much worse for us than they did. _

_ It’s frustrating for me at times. We’ve been taking so much time, time we can’t afford to waste. Pasha’s entire line is in danger but we still have to stop and sleep. Hanza may have started making plays for the Red Line already by now… there’s no way to be sure. I want to stop that from happening but it’s possible I’m already too late. And we’re slowed by injury and misfortune, from my broken rib to frostbite. I knew the risks, every stalker does, but it’s still difficult to keep my anger or desperation from coloring my decisions in the field. _

“It’s a good idea,” Motya grunts.

Artyom looks up and raises an eyebrow.

Motya jerks his chin at the journal. “Keeping a log of your missions. It’s a good idea.”

Artyom shrugs and then fumbles around to dig his small notepad out of his pocket, but the stalker raises a palm.

“Don’t worry about that, I can read your hands by now. Just talk, kid.”

*ONLY BEEN A FEW DAYS. YOU A QUICK LEARNER*

“I’m starter than I look.”

*YOU DON’T LOOK STUPID TO ME*

Motya snorts. “Anyway. It’s good, though, you can learn a lot about yourself by going back and looking at it later. I’m kinda thinking about making Edik do something like this, but I don’t think he can read.”

*WHY YOU TEACHING HIM? SEEM NOT LIKE HIM VERY MUCH*

“His father’s a friend of mine. I’m doing it as a favor.” Motya sighs a little and shifts his sitting position. “He’s not a bad kid. I just don’t like kids to begin with.”

*SEEM LIKE YOU A GOOD TEACHER THOUGH. HE’S NOT STUPID EITHER, CAN BE AN EFFECTIVE STALKER SOMEDAY*

“He still has a ways to go… I’ll probably die before I finish teaching him.” Motya seems perfectly fine with this fact. “One thing I keep trying to get in his head is that you never really stop learning tricks as a stalker. Nobody can show you everything, you’ll pick bits and pieces from people and come up with some things of your own. But there’s always something out there that you don’t know and you probably never will.”

*BIG MOMMA IS REAL* Artyom says. *HAD TO ESCAPE FROM IT IN CATACOMBS UNDER METRO. MOST STALKERS MOST RANGERS ALSO, THEY THINK IT JUST WEIRD LEGEND. LIKE DARK RAILTRACER*

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Artyom considers his next question. Motya’s normally very cranky and closed-mouthed about himself so far, and this is a strange moment of openness.

*WHERE YOU GET BIG SURVEY METER?*

A rough grin, the only one Artyom’s ever seen from the stalker. Some of his teeth are made of metal.

“I found it in an apartment. Actually there were two and they were both broken… I had to cannibalize parts from one to fix the other. It took some trial and error to figure out how it even worked, and I also have to wonder what the hell two broken Geiger counters from god knows what decade were doing lying around in the closet of someone’s home. It’s one of those things, I’ll never get the answer to that one. But this is also my best find as a scavenger. I got it about twelve years ago and fixed it up with an accumulator… now it gets charged the same as a headlamp.”

*SMART GUY* Artyom observes. *WHY A STALKER AND NOT A LEADER?*

“Because I don’t like people and people don’t like me, either. Besides, I’m going to die up here and being a stalker is the best way to make that happen. You do me a favor on this mission,  _ sinok. _ I ever get shot or mauled, just leave me where I am. I refuse to die in the dark.”

*OKAY* he agrees. *HOPE IT NOT COME TO THAT THIS MISSION. YOU MOST HELPFUL MEMBER ON MY TEAM RIGHT NOW. I PAY GOOD MONEY FOR YOU*

“Everyone pays good money for me,” Motya grunts. He sticks some more wood in the fire and settles again. “I get results and I don’t hardly ever get hurt doing it.”

*LUCK*

“No. Not luck.” He shakes his head, staring into the flames. “Skill. Your luck runs out eventually, kid. Skill doesn’t leave you. I’ll take skill over luck every time. You seem like you already know that, though. And you’re good at getting people to back you up. That’s a lot more useful than it probably seems like. I operate by myself, but not everyone can do that. You don’t even need to.”

Motya glances over and Artyom realizes it’s towards Pasha.

*CAN’T EXPLAIN THAT*

“I don’t care what you do.” The stalker pulls out a cigarette and leans his face down to the fire to light it. “I got way bigger problems in my life than who you’re fucking. You’re paying me to be a gun and to be a guide. You’re not paying me to give a shit, and I don’t.”

Artyom hesitates a little before his next question.

*SAY YOU NOT GET HURT VERY OFTEN WHILE SCAVENGING. BUT BIG SCAR ON YOUR FACE*

Motya chuckles. “You got some balls on you, usually people’re too scared to ask me that.”

*IF YOU NOT WANT TALK ABOUT IT TO ME-*

“You think I’m too fragile for that?” the stalker snorts, interrupting him. “Relax, kid. Alright, the scar. I was nineteen at the time, it was my very first mission as a stalker. Back then we weren’t even called that yet, the death of the world above was still pretty new. Some people still didn’t understand that it was forever. But I lived in Hanza then, and they gathered up about six of us, young guys, and said ‘well, we need  _ this, _ we need  _ this, _ we need  _ this. _ ’” Motya ticks off his fingers as he says it. “‘And you all will get all this shit for us, so we won’t be struggling so bad down here.’ Alright, well, what the hell’s in it for us? ‘You can keep the gear we give you to go do it, and we’ll pay you.’ Okay. So they dug up from some office in some station of theirs a bunch of civil defense shit. We’re all put in these really nice gray tarpaulin hazmat suits from the Soviet army, I think. Damn, I wish I still had that suit, it was a good one… but anyway. So we’re in those, with the regular PPM masks. Each of us gets one of the nixie tube watches, a spare filter, a backpack.”

He stops and smokes for a second.

*NO ARMOR? GUNS?*

Motya shakes his head. “Nope. We didn’t think there was anything to hurt us up there but the gamma rays. So all six of us climb up into the street. It’s a good thing they sent us at night, or we would’ve gone blind from being underground almost two years. Not like it mattered for most of them in the end. We were looting apartments when a pack of watchmen found us. One guy got his head ripped right off his neck, a second was gutted and was just lying there screaming for awhile. The rest of us ran up the stairs to escape but there was only so much more ‘up’ we could go. Naturally there was a demon nesting on the roof. This big bat-winged fucker took a whack at me with its claw, ripped my mask off and took half my face with it. So I was just lying there for a little bit and I couldn’t see much because my eyes were all full of blood. The watchmen came up to the roof and were fighting the thing, but the rest of my team got slaughtered. While all that happened I managed to drag myself back down to where the first two died and I took one of their masks. After that… I waited for at least twenty hours. I was stuck inside a closet, I think. Eventually I figured out I would just die in that spot if I didn’t get back down to the metro but I lost all my shit, so I had to climb the roof again. The demon was still there, but it wasn’t really interested in me because it was all fed on watchmen and it just kind of growled and stayed put. So I picked up four backpacks off the roof. I hid them in that same closet and grabbed the last two backpacks, I stashed them near the entrance to the metro and then went back for the others. All my team is dead, my wound is crusted onto my mask, I still bring back all six backpacks of shit for Hanza.” Motya shakes his head and takes a drag on his cigarette. “So the mask got surgically removed. It hurt like a bitch and I was in bandages for two months. When I was healed up, the same guys said to me ‘we want you to always go up and find stuff for us. You managed last time, we always want it to be you.’ And I had nothing better to do with my life so I agreed.”

*BUT YOU NOT AFRAID AFTER WHAT HAPPEN TO YOUR FACE?*

“A little at first. But I also told them they had to give me a rifle, and I had to go alone. A big group is a hazard. Eventually I got over it. I worked with Seryozha for awhile, that’s Edik’s father. He got hurt on a mission and couldn’t be a stalker anymore so I was by myself again. I prefer it that way.”

*THEN WHY DID YOU AGREE FOR THIS MISSION?*

“Because you’re paying me, and I have nothing better to do. That sums up most of my life after the nukes dropped. I just have nothing better to do, I’ve had nothing better to do for twenty five years.”

* * *

“Check that stash,” Motya orders.

The three of them take up defensive positions while Edik scurries inside. Tyoma seems like he’s looking at something.

*WHAT IS IT?* Pavel asks.

*THIS A BOOKSTORE* Tyoma glances between Pavel and Motya. *THIRTY SECONDS*

They don’t argue with him and adjust their positioning. The store is probably ransacked on the inside, so who knows what Tyoma wants in there, but they’re also waiting for Edik so it doesn’t matter that much.

Edik comes out first. “Shotgun shells and a filter.” He gives the shells to Motya and the filter to Pavel.

Tyoma pops up again a few seconds after, and even not able to see most of his face Pavel can tell he’s really pleased with himself about something.

*WHAT YOU UP TO?* Pavel asks.

*SURPRISE* Tyoma says, and going by his eyes he’s smiling under the mask.

*OKAY. FINE THEN YOU BE A SNEAKY SAUSAGE LIKE THAT* he teases.

*LAUGHING*

And they’re creeping along again. There are no stars out, which is kind of good since it’s not as cold, but it also means the world is darker for them. Pavel stumbles on something that’s under the snow but Tyoma catches him by his arm, keeps him upright. Their hands are too busy grabbing hold of their guns and each other, so they talk with their eyes - their souls can speak through looks, sometimes.

_ Careful, _ say Tyoma’s eyes.

_ Thank you, _ Pavel says back.

The grip shifts until they’re holding hands as they walk. Pavel never wants to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:
> 
> Sinok - Sonny. Motya is being a grumpy old man by calling him this.
> 
> So the protective suits Motya describes in his story are L1 suits, a very nice Soviet military NBC suit (which I of course own several of, long story). These suits are cotton fabric first of all which is then poured over by a thin layer of butyl rubber, and this rubber is also impregnated with lead salts. So, they're very, very good for chemical and radiological hazards. No hazmat suit anywhere is comfortable... but by hazmat suit standards, these are very comfortable for long-term wear.


	10. The Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from the dead! ^_^ It's been like a month at least and I'm sorry for that, and also for the fact that this one's not that long. Hopefully you guys enjoy it anyway :)

“This shouldn’t look like that,” Motya says.

They’re near the entrance to a metro station, one that Artyom isn’t closely familiar with. The snow is thin, here, and near the entrance is almost completely melted. It’s very unusual and he feels disturbed looking at it, even though he can’t explain why exactly.

*WHAT HAPPENED?*

“I don’t know,” the stalker admits, shaking his head.

Artyom directs Pasha and Edik to take up defensive points and then creeps towards the station entrance with Motya. There are faint noises, but they’re weird, almost quiet moans like someone who needs help. But there shouldn’t be anyone on the surface around here aside from Artyom’s team.

They move at nearly a crawl to get deeper into the station entrance. It’s dark at the bottom of the escalators, so the airlock must be closed, but the walls and ceiling are blackened in a way Artyom’s seen maybe a couple times before but just can’t place. Motya scoops up a chunk of something and tosses it down to recon - and immediately are the loud screeches and roars of a nosalis pack. They immediately run for the street.

There’s absolutely no time to warn Pasha or Edik of what’s coming, but the approaching noises seem to be more than enough anyway. Three come bursting out of the entrance at once, immediately riddled with assault rifle bullets. But even this isn’t quite right, they went down too easy. Another one flies through a large window in a shower of glass and lands right on Edik, knocking him on his back - Artyom empties his magazine into the beast to keep it from murdering the kid.

And then it’s quiet again.

Nothing about this fits. Usually there are more of these damn things, but there were only four and they died quickly, not as tough as usual. Edik wriggles out from under the dead monster and wipes his cheek - his face is bleeding. He calmly finds his mask and puts it back on like nothing happened.

Artyom and Pasha go back to the entrance and look at the bodies there… they were already wounded. Dark spots, sometimes cracked. Charred. These nosalis have been burned.

Motya notices this, too. “There must’ve been a fire,” he comments indifferently. “That whole station down there is dead.”

Well, that explains the melted snow. Artyom figures that the airlock down at the bottom wasn’t actually closed, there’s just no light to be had down there. And how many people died? How many used to live in this place? He can’t think about it. They’re already gone, after all, and his mission is to save the ones who still live.

* * *

“How much longer, Tyomuchka?” Pavel asks. His hands are busy disinfecting the wound in Edik’s face.

*NOT FAR* Tyoma assures him *ONE MORE NIGHT MAYBE OF WALKING*

“Can’t you bandage it?” Edik whines, flinching. “Every time I take my mask off the scab is just going to get ripped open again!”

“Shut up, you’re fine,” Motya grunts from the corner.

“If I put anything on your face, your mask won’t seal,” Pavel explains. He shakes his head and wipes his hands on his legs. “Just try to be careful of it.”

He and Motya end up on first watch, which kind of sucks because Pavel really wanted to snuggle Tyoma again like they’ve been doing. Instead he’s stuck with this cranky old bastard who probably won’t even talk to him.

For the first half hour or so, Motya just sits on his box in the corner, smoking and cleaning his gun. Pavel sits on the floor in the opposite corner, refusing to think about how hungry he is.

“You’re not a real medic, are you?”

“I know some stuff,” he says. “Why, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You’re really saying there’s something you  _ can’t _ do?” Pavel comments sarcastically.

Motya stills and looks up, glaring from under his eyebrows. “Listen, you godless commie bastard. I’d need at least twelve fingers to count how many times you and your little cohort there would be dead by now if I wasn’t here. Show a little fucking respect.”

“Hey, we’re paying you!”

“No,  _ he’s _ paying me.” Motya points towards Tyoma with his cigarette. “You’re following after him and dicking around like you’ve got nothing better to do. Shouldn’t you be defending this line of yours if you want to save it so bad?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Pavel snaps.

Just then Tyoma rolls over and his hands flash out in big, angry movements: *PLEASE YOU BOTH SHUT THE FUCK UP. SLEEPING*

“Sorry,” Pavel whispers, and they’re both quiet again after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcomed and appreciated if you have them :)


End file.
